The Law of Second Chances (30 page)

“As for the case itself, I’d be happy if you took it off my hands. Frankly, in my opinion, it’s going to hurt your reputation.”

Jack stood up to leave. There was no sense taking any more of the man’s time. “Thanks, Bruce. I appreciate your candor. I’ll have an answer for you very soon.”

“My pleasure, Jack.”

Henry waved good-bye as he followed Jack out of the office.

“You were awful quiet in there,” Jack commented as they walked across the street toward the subway.

“I didn’t have anything to say.”

“At least, not in front of him, is that it?”

“That’s about right, Jack.”

“So what do you think?”

“I think that Mr. Sentner was a little too sure of himself. He’s got Benny convicted already. I think that happens all too often in the public defender’s office. I imagine that same conversation happened when I was coming up for trial.”

“I don’t know. I understand your position, Henry, considering your own personal experience, but the evidence against Benny is pretty substantial. I think he’s right about this Dr. Wong too. I’ve seen experts like him skinned alive during cross-examination.”

“I imagine you did some of that skinning yourself, Daniel Boone,” Henry said with a sideways look at Jack, who cracked a smile.

They met Charlie that evening for dinner at an intimate little Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side called Pinocchio. When Jack called to tell Charlie they were coming to New York, she had insisted that they stay with her.

“I’ve got two extra bedrooms and I won’t hear of you staying anywhere else,” she’d declared. Jack couldn’t say no but mentioned that he couldn’t speak for Henry. When he brought up the invitation later, Henry told him he had relatives in Harlem and he wanted to get a chance to stay with them if possible.

“Just be ready. She’s going to bring it up as soon as we sit down,” Jack said as they walked into the restaurant.

Sure enough, after they had all kissed hello and were
seated, Charlie got right to the point. “Are you going to stay with me, Henry?”

“I’d love to, Charlie,” Henry began, “but I have an aunt who lives in Harlem, and I’ve only met her once. She’s my mother’s younger sister, and I’ve already made arrangements to stay with her. I want to find out a little bit more about my mother. Besides, we don’t eat the same food as you folks. There’s only so much of this stuff I can take.”

Charlie laughed. Henry had totally disarmed her.

It was a wonderful dinner. Henry and Jack entertained Charlie with their stories about weekends on Lake Okeechobee. Afterward, Henry hopped a cab uptown while Jack and Charlie took a leisurely stroll to her apartment between Lexington and Park Avenues. She lived right in the heart of the neighborhood where Jack and Pat had grown up.

“Did Pat tell you this was our old neighborhood?”

“Of course she did.”

“It’s changed a lot. It used to be blue-collar. Nobody I know could live here anymore.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard. The only working people left are the ones who live in rent-controlled or rent-stabilized apartments.”

“It’s the same all over New York. This city has lost some of its soul.”

“You’re probably right, Jack. I don’t know. I’m originally from Indiana.”

“So is everybody else,” Jack replied. “Not from Indiana, I mean, but from someplace else. The people who were born and raised in Manhattan are gone.”

“Pat took me to some of your old hangouts. They seem the same.”

“The difference is there are only a few of them left.” Jack realized he was sounding like an old curmudgeon. He decided to change course. “Maybe we’ll stop at the Carlow East one night this week,” he suggested.

“I’d like that.”

They walked in silence for half a block until Charlie popped the question she’d been meaning to ask all night.

“So, have you been thinking about dating?”

Jack stopped in his tracks and looked at her. “Of course not,” he replied.

“Well, you should be, Jack. It’s time.”

“How do you know it’s time, Charlie? Is Pat talking back to you now?”

“Very funny, Jack. Actually, this is something she talked to me about before she died. She asked me to tell you when the time was right that she wanted you to go on and live a full life in every respect. I think this is the right time.”

They started walking again.

“Well, I don’t,” Jack finally answered. “I don’t know if it will ever be time.”

“Just be open to it, Jack. That’s all I’m saying. You’re too young to become a dried-up old prune.”

That got a laugh out of Jack. “All right, Charlie. I’ll try and be open to it. I’m sorry I jumped all over you like that.”

“Does that mean we’re still on for the Carlow East?” she asked.

“We’re still on for the Carlow East.”

Jack tossed and turned all night, wrestling with the decision of whether to represent Benny or not. He and Henry met for breakfast early the next morning.

“I can’t do this, Henry,” Jack said after they got their coffee.

“Do what?”

“Represent Benny. I’m convinced he’s guilty. I’m trying to seek justice for people who aren’t guilty. I’m not trying to get guilty people off.”

Henry didn’t answer right away. He simply took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. “Jack, you know I love you,” he began. “You saved my life. But you need to expand your view of justice. It’s not black-and-white. It’s multicolored, and the different shades are very subtle. Your friend Luis was railroaded into the service to fight a war that, by the way, just about everyone now agrees was unjust. And the state put
Benny into a foster-care program that was nothing more than legalized child abuse.”

“I hear you. But should I try to get a murderer off because he had a bad childhood? Is that what you’re saying to me?”

“Not at all. I’m just saying that justice means Benny is entitled to his day in court. Neither you nor anybody else should prejudge him. He should get the best defense he’s entitled to and the state should be required to prove its case—nothing more, nothing less.”

“What if I get him off and put a murderer back on the street? That’s the part I can’t get past.”

“All right, let’s work on that. How do we resolve that dilemma?”

“I don’t know, Henry. That’s what kept me up all night. I’d really like to help Luis.”

“Let me make a suggestion. Let’s go see Benny. We can get a feel for him just like you got a feel for me on that first visit. Let’s find out where he lived and talk to people who know him. If in the end it’s pretty clear that he’s a violent, dangerous person, then we walk away. But if he’s not and this murder charge appears to be an aberration, then you take his case and give him the best defense you can, which means you make the state prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt.”

Jack looked at Henry. It was a reasonable compromise, and it appeared that Henry had taken a long time to think it out. He’d probably done some of his own tossing and turning the night before.

“You think he’s innocent, don’t you?” Jack asked.

“Not necessarily, Jack. I think he’s entitled to a presumption of innocence—something I never had.”

“All right, Henry, we’ll talk to Benny. If he doesn’t appear to be a violent criminal and we can verify that independently, then I’ll take his case. The rest is out of my hands.”

44

The next day they rented a car and drove to Ossining Correctional Facility in Ossining, New York, about an hour and a half from the city. Jack had called ahead and made arrangements to see Benny. He was an expert at cutting through the prison red tape and expediting things; he’d spoken directly to the warden.

After they signed in and went through the normal procedure of being searched, the prison guards led them to a private visiting room. The guards were clearly keeping an eye on Henry, probably figuring that a man that size didn’t need a weapon to orchestrate a prison break.

Henry wasn’t feeling all that comfortable either. Walking through the prison gates and hearing them
clang
shut behind him sent chills up and down his spine. For a moment he felt like running, but he steeled himself. Henry knew that Benny’s fate actually depended on him. Even though Jack had experience dealing with death-row inmates, he didn’t really know how to get behind the almost impenetrable wall of a guy living in the prison system.

Benny Avrile was no longer the fast-talking, pot-smoking flimflam man he’d been a year ago. At five feet, eight inches and slight of build, the young, fairly handsome Benny had been a sight for sore eyes to more than a few inmates who thought it would be easy to make him their bitch.

Benny had known what was coming. He’d heard enough horror stories over the years from ex-cons—none of whom ever admitted to being molested—to realize that he was literally going to have to fight for his ass. It wasn’t going to be the first time, however, and his experience as a foster kid had given him at least some preparation. Back then when his back was to the wall, Benny had always come out swinging. He adopted the same attitude the day he walked through the prison gates. If somebody even looked at him wrong, he hit him and hit him again and kicked him in the balls and bit him and head-butted him and didn’t stop until the guards pulled him off. The next day he’d do it all over again, constantly the aggressor, never waiting for somebody to make a move on him. He talked to nobody. If somebody talked to him he hit him and hit him and hit him. He was put in solitary a few times and got beaten up by the guards, but nothing stopped him. Eventually he didn’t get the looks anymore. He’d been tagged as crazy and was left alone.

Now Benny the crazy man was led into the room where Jack and Henry were waiting. Two guards were with him, and he was handcuffed. When they’d seated him, the guards left the room and waited right outside, where they could still see through a window in the door.

Henry knew that once Benny was convicted his accoutrements would change. He’d have leg and waist shackles as well as handcuffs, and the guards would never leave the room. Henry also saw the look of the animal in Benny’s eyes, a look he had seen many times.

Jack started the interview.

“Mr. Avrile, my name is Jack Tobin. I’m a lawyer. Your father has asked me to look into your case and, if possible, to represent you in your upcoming trial.”

“So you’re here to check me out to see if you really want to do it,” Benny growled.

“Something like that,” Jack answered.

Benny was conducting his own assessment. Jack certainly looked a lot more competent than Sal Paglia, but looks could
be deceiving. He was probably another flunky that his father got for a bargain-basement price. But who was the big black guy? He certainly didn’t look like a lawyer.

Henry read his mind.

“I’m Henry Wilson, Benny,” he said. “I spent seventeen years on death row in Florida before Jack got me released last year. He’s the real deal, in case you’re wondering.”

Benny turned to Jack to respond. “If you’re the real deal, my father must be paying you a hell of a lot of money.”

“This isn’t about money,” Jack told him. “I knew your father when we were teenagers. I have a great deal of respect for him.”

Benny rolled his eyes. He didn’t know it, but he was on the verge of burying the only hope he had left.

At that moment, Henry decided to take over. “Benny!” he said sharply but not very loudly, and he waited for Benny’s eyes to meet his. “My mother was a heroin addict,” he began, keeping his gaze fixed on Benny. “She used to bring these guys home who beat the shit out of me every day. I was six years old when I found her dead by a creek near where we lived. I was put into the foster system, which was as bad as any prison I was ever in. I had my own bout with drugs and everything else on the street, and I despised my mother for the life she’d given me. I never even knew my father. But when I was strapped to that gurney and they were about to put my lights out forever, all I thought about was seeing my mother and hugging her and telling her I understood because I had my own demons. You hear what I’m saying?”

Benny nodded. Henry had tapped into something that he didn’t believe anybody else understood.

“Your father,” Henry continued, “had
his
own demons. He was drafted into a war he knew nothing about and he lost his best friend in the process—which drove him to heroin. We could talk about how he got there just like we could talk about how we got there. That part doesn’t matter. What matters is that he picked himself up and he fought his way back and now all he wants to do is help you. Yeah, he feels guilty, and he should feel guilty. He’s doing something about it,
though. He’s had a second chance, and he wants you to have one. You’ve got to get past your hate and let him—and us—help you.”

Henry stopped talking but continued to look directly into Benny’s eyes. It was a challenge. Henry was waiting for some straight talk back.

Benny didn’t speak right away, but there was no mistaking the emotion in his eyes and on his face.

“I got past it once—the hate,” he finally said. “I’d wanted to kill them both, but then I let it go. It all came rushing back when I saw him again. This ain’t exactly the best place to sort out your feelings, if you know what I mean. I hear you, though. And I know you’re right. It’s just gonna take me some time to get there.”

“I’m with you,” Henry replied. “One other question: is there a bar you used to hang out in?”

“Yeah, Tillie’s.”

“Does the bartender know you?”

“Tillie’s the bartender. Yeah, he knows me. Why?”

“I’ll tell you the next time we see you.” Henry looked at Jack to see if there was anything else he wanted to talk about. Jack shook his head. Henry stood up, reached across the table, and shook Benny’s hand.

“You were awfully quiet in there,” Henry said to Jack as they were walking to the car. It was exactly the same comment Jack had made after their visit to Bruce Sentner, the public defender.

“Touché!” Jack replied. “Actually, there was no room for me in there. You two were in your own world. You get it now, Henry, don’t you? If you hadn’t come on this trip I would never have seen that other side of Benny. I’m not convinced yet, but if I’d been by myself today I’d be heading for the airport now.”